Underdone sunsets

A friend sent me this poem by P. G. Wodehouse

Caliban at Sunset

I stood with a man
Watching the sun go down.
The air was full of murmurous summer scents
And a brave breeze sang like a bugle
From a sky that smouldered in the west,
A sky of crimson, amethyst, gold and sepia
And blue as blue were the eyes of Helen
When she sat
Gazing from some high tower in Ilium
Upon the Grecian tents darkling below.
And he,
This man who stood beside me,
Gaped like some dull, half-witted animal
And said,
"I say,
Doesn't that sunset remind you
Of a slice
Of underdone roast beef?"

---
From this we find that Osama too is an avid reader of Wodehouse. For proof consider the following poem due to him in his critically acclaimed collection "Bombings and other miniatures".

Taliban at Sunset

Came back my second-in-command
To a cave,
For I could not be seen over land,
Described he to me how the Sun had drowned.
The air had been full of dissenting ferments
From Zionists as we torched a few Jewish hutments
And a breeze recalled screams of past,
As when we tortured Kurds till they could last.
A sky smouldered in the West,
Similar to New York buildings we put to the test.
A sky of crimson, amethyst, gold and sepia
(For this we blasted the Tube, Hallelujah)
And blue as blue as the eyes of Virgins
As they sit
Atop Atta's thigh, gazing,
On the hated Kafirs persisting below.

Then he,
This man, though taught by me,
Broke my reverie like an idolatrous pig,
He Sighed,
“By the grace of Allah,
Doesn’t this sunset remind you,
Of the city of Lanka,
Undone by the Monkey God’s mischief?”